


An Adventure With The Illuminati

by WallaceAndGromitGirl



Series: The Piratesverse [2]
Category: Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists! (2012)
Genre: Amnesia, Diary/Journal, Flashback, Kidnapping, Masks, Minor Violence, Multi, Mystery, Near Death Experience, Nightmares, Original Character Death(s), Post-Canon, Repressed Memories, Search For Identity, Suspense, Swordfights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallaceAndGromitGirl/pseuds/WallaceAndGromitGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's hard being a pirate. Take one wrong step and you could end up tangled in a web of intrigue, kidnappings, lost memories and a centuries-old war. Just ask our favorite band of misfits. And remember...there can be no order without chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is, to be brief, the story which I set up at the end of An Adventure With A Volcano. Beyond that, they're completely separate in every way you can think of. The first story was short, this story is long. The first story didn't really mess with history, while this story kicks history in the shins and skips away laughing about it.
> 
> The first story was nice and safe and funny. This story...isn't.
> 
> But then again, you might have guessed that from the title.

_Swim. Breathe. Stay alive._

So thought the young boy who tossed and tumbled across the ocean, desperately trying to keep his head above the stormy Atlantic waters. _And don't look back,_ he added. _Don't ever look back._

What he really wanted was to forget. It was, he found, already starting to slip away.

_Not now!_

Lightning flashed as another wave knocked him under. He screamed in fear, but immediately shut his mouth. A bit too late, as his burning lungs were all too glad to tell him. Kicking upward, he propelled himself to the surface and broke through, gasping for breath. His head spun, his eyes stung from the water and his limbs felt ready to fall off.

_Get to land._

He turned around, examining the horizon in all directions. Dismay rose within him as he found no escape from his plight, only the dark sea stretching out forever...but what was that?

A dark mass stood out against the horizon. On it was a light - a faint light, yes, but still a light. And light meant warmth.

With the boy's new goal came new determination. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the precious light and began to paddle. Slowly but steadily, the light began to grow.

_Swim. Breathe. Stay alive. Get to land, and then you may forget._

By the time he finally stumbled onto the beach, the tempest had ended and the sun was rising. He barely noticed his surroundings; he collapsed to the ground the moment he touched it, his strength now spent.

 _You did it,_ he thought as he closed his eyes. _You're alive. You're safe. You can forget them._

And so he did.


	2. Confessions of a Not-Pirate

_Journal of Charles Darwin_

_Day 42 aboard the Pirate Ship (does it even have a name?)_

_Were it not for the kind nature of the Pirate Captain, my burnt remains would be hanging from a palm tree at the moment. For this, I am grateful._

_The others, I believe, are less so._

Charles gagged as he felt yet another bout of seasickness coming on. Sighing, he closed his book, leaned over the side of the ship and began retching up slimy green chunks of vomit.

The Albino Pirate looked up with concern, but the other crew members on the deck took no notice; this had long ceased to be an unusual sight. In fact, it happened often enough that Charles had taken to sitting by the ship's edge and waiting for the next round to begin.

Despite all the lessons he'd been given and his willingness to learn them, the man just couldn't seem to pick up seafaring skills of any kind. Most of his knots simply fell apart, and when they didn't, either he couldn't get the thing undone or had tied his hands together (or both). He couldn't pick up a cannonball. He kept holding maps the wrong way. His attempts to swab the deck usually ended with him slipping on the bar of soap and tipping the bucket down onto himself. Even the captain had realized that letting him steer the ship wasn't a good idea.

The instructions in exclusively piratical skills went even worse, if that was possible. While he'd managed to get the time spent loading a gun down to five minutes, he still couldn't shoot straight. He always fell in the ocean when he tried swinging from one boat to another. Polly was more successful at demanding gold than he was. He stayed behind whenever the crew attacked a ship, for both his good and theirs.

He hadn't been lying when he'd told the Pirate With A Scarf that he couldn't do anything useful. Unless one counted staying out of the way as useful.

When the sickness passed, Charles began writing again. _The captain hasn't had any new tasks for me in a few days. Not that I'm complaining; the last thing I need right now is more excitement._

"Chuck! Look what I've got!" The Pirate Captain had come up on deck, grinning at Charles and holding several pairs of cutlasses. "Let's see which one fits you best, all right?"

_And now they've finally decided to kill me._

* * *

 

"Oh, really? _Really?_ You think you're so invincible? Well...well, you're not!" Charles said, waving the cutlass around for good measure. The dummy he'd been yelling at, however, was less impressed.

The Pirate With A Scarf rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to fight an enemy, not talk it to death."

"I don't know," the Pirate With Gout said with a chuckle. "Seems like he could do it." The crew members had all gathered around this odd new scene and were watching it like a show. Probably, Charles thought, because they knew how it was going to end.

"Perhaps he could," the Pirate Captain said, "but this'll be more efficient. Imagine; he's just attacked you, but you've blocked him with a parry. Now it's time for riposte!"

"...Meaning...?"

"Hit him."

Trying not to drop the sword, Charles swung it forward and lightly tapped the wooden stick which was tied to the dummy's hand. "How...how was that?"

"Bit more force."

Another light tap.

"Come on, man! Pretend you're in the fight of your life! You're out for _blood!"_

"I can't stand the sight of blood!"

"Oh. Well, you know what I mean."

"Not really."

"It's all well and fine to just bash swords together, but that's only half of it. You've got to have a _reason_ for fighting." He backed away. "Try it now!"

Taking a breath, Charles focused on the dummy. _I want to get this over with,_ he repeated to himself. _I want to get this over with._

"Good!" said the Pirate Captain as he saw his pupil's expression change to one of determination. "Now, on three, you strike. Ready? _Three!"_

In a burst of energy, Charles lifted his cutlass and clumsily swung at the dummy, smacking his mock opponent and sending it spinning on its little pedestal. "I did it!" he cried, seeing the crew's shocked faces. "I really did it! How was - "

And then the dummy chose that moment to swing back around and use its stick to whack Charles upside the head. Hard.

The Albino Pirate gasped. "I didn't know the dummy was alive!"

His fellow pirates turned away, covering their mouths to hide their laughter.

* * *

 

_So that's what I'm to be remembered for,_ Charles thought. _Being the first person to fight a sack of straw and lose._

His head had been examined by the Pirate Captain, who said he looked fine but that he should find something safer to do for the rest of the day. Which was why he had banished himself to the hold and was working on knots again, with the usual amount of success. That, however, was only one reason.

Looking around to make sure no one was coming, Charles reached into his shirt collar and pulled out his secret treasure.

Hanging upon a long black ribbon tied around his neck was a tiny, thin, fragile gold ring. Attached to it was a dark red ruby, carefully carved into an oval and smoothed until its edges had been worn away. He tipped it around, letting the gem catch the light which came in from above; old as it was, it could still shine.

He would never understand why looking at the ring calmed him down, gave him comfort. All he knew was that it did - and that he'd been needing it quite a lot lately.

"Hello?" a voice said. The Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate poked his head into the hole, then climbed down the ladder into it. "Are you all right?"

"I didn't think you'd care."

"Sorry...'bout all of that."

"To be honest," Charles said, "I would have laughed, too."

The pirate sat down beside him. "Still doing knots?"

"Far less lethal," he said, tugging at an especially hard one.

"Well, seems you're - say, what's that?"

"What's what?" Charles then realized that he hadn't put away the ring. "Oh, this. It was my mother's."

"You two must've been rather close."

He shook his head. "She died when I was eight. Father said she wanted me to have it. He never said why...we never really got along."

"Oh?"

"First he wanted me to be a doctor, and when I kept throwing up at blood he decided I'd be a parson."

"Not a science lover, then."

"Tried to stop me from going on the Beagle. Sometimes I found it hard to believe he was really my father...why are you so interested in this, anyway?"

"I find knots easier when I'm thinking 'bout something else. So do you, apparently."

Sure enough, the knot Charles had been fiddling with now lay completely undone.

"Ha- _HA!_ Have at you, knot!"

The Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate chuckled. "You're welcome."

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity up on deck. "Land ho!" the Pirate Who Liked Sunsets And Kittens was yelling.

"About time!" said the Pirate Captain, striding up to the bow. "Take us in, Number Two!"

The Pirate With A Scarf nodded and turned the wheel. With wind filling its sails, the Pirate Ship soon picked up speed and headed for the docks of Blood Island.

"Do you think we'll find adventure, sir?" the Pirate With Gout asked the captain.

"Perhaps," he answered. "Wouldn't that be fun, lads?"

If only he had known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, all that seemingly-useless knowledge about Darwin I researched when I found out he was going to be in Pirates has finally paid off. Yes, some of those were actual facts about his life that he was recounting there. Including the part about him not liking blood. Interesting, no?


	3. What Just Happened?

The wharf of Blood Island was empty, but that wasn't unusual. The unusual part was the absurd amount of noise coming from the tavern.

"What's going on?" the Pirate Captain asked as he and his group stepped inside. They had just enough time to register the fact that every pirate on the island must have been in the room before they were enveloped by a borderline-hysterical mob.

"Where have you _been?"_ they yelled, crowding around the Pirate Captain. "Didn't you hear the news? What did you _do?"_

"Um...ahoy?"

"All right, give him some room," the Pirate With A Scarf said. "One at a time."

"Yes, what he said!" added the captain as he made his way to the bar and found a stool. "Excellent questions, all of them. Where I've been is a long and morbidly amusing story. No, I haven't heard any news. And what _did_ I do? Well, I suppose that would tie into where I've been - "

"Either somethin' good or somethin' terrible," a pirate said. "The king himself has asked for you!"

The Pirate Captain's jaw dropped, and Mr. Bobo had to push it back up. "But-he-I-after the... _what?"_

"He sent a messenger down here just a few hours ago. Said he was in needin' of your skills."

"Why not ask Cutlass Liz?"

"She's off plundering."

"Bellamy, then?"

A few people snickered, followed by the whole crowd bursting into raucous laughter. "He's...fallin' out o' favor."

"Really? Where's he now?"

Someone stomped on the floor of the tavern. _"QUIET!"_ a familiar voice shouted from beneath their feet.

"He's gone a bit mad, I think," someone whispered. "Conspiracy theorist."

"Right...so, anyway, mysterious mission from the Pirate King himself. Now that's something you can't say no to. Come along, lads!"

The Pirate With A Scarf lagged behind as the others left. "What does he mean, 'skills'?" he asked.

No one spoke. Someone shrugged.

"Come on, Number Two! Don't want to end up like poor Bellamy, now do we?"

With a sigh, he turned and followed his friends. _Not again..._

* * *

 

In the very center of Blood Island stood the Pirate King's palace. It had been owned by a planter once, back when the island had been used for growing sugar. When the pirates conquered it and chased everyone away, they found it too elegant for even them to destroy. So the Pirate King at the time had claimed it as his palace, and all subsequent Pirate Kings had lived there. It was tall and rectangular, built with stone and painted a bright white, and marble pillars held up the shady porch. It was separate from the other buildings, hidden by the jungle, and no one had ever been inside - not until now.

One of the double doors at the front stood ajar. "Hello!" the Pirate Captain said, pushing it open. "We're here! Just as you wanted!"

No answer.

"...Do we get to come in, or shall we meet you out here?"

Still no answer.

"Maybe he wanted you to come alone?" the Pirate With A Scarf suggested.

The captain shrugged and stepped inside. He motioned for his crew to follow him, and the group found itself in a large foyer. It was an odd sight; mahogany floor, purple silk rug, grand staircase to the upper rooms, sunshine pouring in from the skylight and not a sign of a living soul.

"What is this, some sort of joke?" the Pirate with Gout said.

"Don't be ridiculous, Pirate With Gout," answered the Pirate Captain. "Everyone knows the Pirate King has no sense of humor. _No offense, by the way!"_

A squawk from Polly got their attention. She and Mr. Bobo were standing beneath an open window. **_Take. A. Look,_** the monkey spelled.

Muddy bootprints were on the floor, starting at the window and going up the staircase back into the house.

The crew backed towards the door, but the Pirate Captain just straightened his hat and began walking up the staircase. "Oh, come along!"

"I'm scared," said the Albino Pirate.

"Why? This is _obviously_ a test of character they've set up for us. Or something."

Despite remaining a bit wary, the crew started after their captain. "Do you really believe that?" the Pirate With A Scarf whispered to him as they followed the trail.

"I'd like to."

The bootprints went deep within the house, winding up several flights of stairs to the top floor, where they stretched down a long hall lined with windows on one side and ended at a blue door. This, like the front door, was standing ajar.

The Pirate Captain drew his cutlass. "Might have to do a bit of fighting. Everyone ready?"

The others nodded halfheartedly, even though they hadn't brought any weapons.

"Then here we go!" With that, the captain kicked open the door and jumped inside. "Take this, you...oh, my."

It was the Pirate King's study - emphasis on was. The room and everything in it had been trashed almost beyond recognition; the desk had been overturned, chairs lay in splinters, windows had been smashed and torn papers were scattered everywhere. The inkwell had been overturned, and its contents lay in a black puddle on the floor. On the wall above this puddle, the ink had been used to scrawl a single letter: **I.**

"Rather fancy test," the Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate said.

"Yeah," said Charles, who was staring at the mysterious letter. "It would be..."

"Chuck? Are you alright?"

"They missed something," he said, stooping to pick up a sealed envelope which lay unharmed on the floor. The crew gathered around him as he opened it. Inside was a small, folded-up map on which a path had been scribbled. A broken line went from Blood Island west to an X. An X in the middle of the ocean.

"South end of the Spanish Main," the Pirate Captain said.

The Pirate With A Scarf was about to say "Don't you mean the north?" when he realized that Charles was holding the map right.

All of a sudden, the door slammed. "Give us the map."

The crew whirled around to find their exit blocked by two men. At least, they were probably men. It was impossible to tell. Their clothes were red and very old; doublets, jerkins, hooded capes, gloves, breeches, stockings and pointy shoes. Even stranger, however, were the masks. White masks covering their whole heads, with sunken black holes for eyes and mouths frozen in angry yells. Their hands rested on the rapiers at their belts. "Give us the map," one of them repeated.

"What do you want with it?" the Pirate Captain asked.

_"Give us the map."_

"It was just a question."

The figures drew their rapiers in unison and advanced on the group.

"Can we talk about - "

"Hold this," Charles said. In one swift motion he grabbed the Pirate Captain's cutlass, handed him the map and stepped forward to meet the attackers. One of them swung at his head; he ducked and slashed at their right arm, causing them to drop their sword. The other grabbed his neck from behind and tried to choke him; he threw a punch over his shoulder which knocked them backwards, then turned to face them and threw another punch which sent them crumpling to the floor.

While this was happening, the first figure had picked up his sword and was creeping towards Charles, who merely turned back around and kicked them off their feet, then pointed the cutlass at their neck. "Drop it," he commanded, pointing at the rapier.

The figure did, and then scrambled to their feet, ran towards the nearest window and jumped out of it.

Letting the cutlass slip from his fingers, Charles sank to his knees with a cry of pain. A terrible image was flashing through his head. _Masks...masks everywhere..._

It left just as quickly as it arrived.

Breaking free of their open-mouthed stupor the pirates instantly surrounded him. "What was _that?"_ "You alright?" "But _what was that?"_

"Just...a headache..."

"No, the other thing!" the Pirate Captain said.

"I-I don't know."

The Pirate With A Scarf was examining the second figure, who lay unconscious on the floor. "Captain," he said holding up their hand, "you ought to take a look at this." One of the person's gloves had slipped off in the scuffle. Tattooed on their palm was an odd image. It was a skull and crossbones, only the skull had one eye socket, and the eyeball was still in it.

Charles looked away, his forehead burning again. Bright lights and faint snatches of music were slipping through his mind. _And the masks, a whole room of them..._

"Get him back to the ship," the Pirate Captain. "Number Two, you're coming with me."

"Where?"

"To see an acquaintance."


	4. Order Through Chaos

The Pirate Captain knocked loudly on the cellar door of the tavern. "Bellamy!" he called.

"Let us in!" He was answered with a muffled noise sounding suspiciously like "Go away."

"Bellamy, this is important," the Pirate With A Scarf said. "Can you come out for a bit?"

They heard the sounds of someone shuffling about, and then the door slowly creaked open.

It took them a moment to recognize Black Bellamy; the man did indeed appear to have gone mad. His skin had grown pale and hung limply upon his bones. The lantern he carried cast unnatural shadows on his haggard face. His moustache and goatee were untrimmed and without their glossiness and curl. He had shed his hat, his fancy coat and all his jewelry. Large bags were beneath his eyes, which were bugged out and threatening to pop from their sockets. "What do you want?" he asked in an annoyed tone.

"Bellamy," said the Pirate Captain, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need your help."

"Why don't you ask your _friends_ upstairs?"

"Because this is far bigger than anything they can handle. We need expertise!"

"I'm sure the King would love to help his new favorite."

"Someone's captured the Pirate King."

That got Bellamy's attention. "What? Who?"

"They called you a conspiracy theorist," the Pirate With A Scarf said. "Is that true?"

"That's insulting! I prefer 'investigative historian.' Why do you ask?"

"Do you know what _this_ is?" the Pirate Captain asked, holding up a piece of paper. On it, he had drawn a picture of the mysterious symbol.

Black Bellamy snatched the paper from his hand. "Where did you find this?"

"We were attacked by someone with a tattoo just like that on their hand. Very weird."

"Despite being the _least_ weird thing to happen..."

Black Bellamy peered down the alleyway, and then back at his visitors. "Come in," he said. "Quickly!" He disappeared back into the cellar, and the two men followed him. "I've been redecorating."

"Yes," the Pirate With A Scarf said upon seeing the state of the cellar. "I can see that..."

Books were everywhere; stacked up to the ceiling, spread out on the floor, lying open and dog-eared and spine-up. Shrunken heads and voodoo dolls hung from the ceiling, which was painted with hieroglyphs. An elaborate drawing of the Loch Ness Monster had been nailed to the wall. The whole room smelled of mildew and fish.

"They moved all their stuff into the back room," said Bellamy as he lit the lanterns which sat in seemingly random places. "No one ever comes down here anymore...now where did I put that key...here it is!" Reaching beneath a knight's helmet atop one book pile, he procured a tiny iron key. "We're gonna need the special books."

"Special books?" the Pirate Captain asked.

"If this is what I think it is, then you've got a lot of trouble on your hands," Bellamy said as he walked to the corner, where a large wooden chest was sitting under a cot. Dragging out the chest and opening it, he began to removed several thick, dusty and very old books. Some were as big as his head, some were written in unfamiliar languages and all of them looked ready to fall apart. Finally he took out the last book, a volume as thick as the Pirate Captain's beard with a cover of red leather. On it, in gold ink, was printed **STORYSE OF THE ANCIENTE ONESE.** He began to flip through the wafer-thin pages. "They'll be in here."

"Who?"

"Yes! I was right!" Bellamy yelled. "That picture, Captain, is the symbol of the Illuminati!"

He couldn't have generated blanker stares if he'd tried.

Finally, the Pirate Captain spoke. "The...what?"

"The Illuminati," Bellamy repeated. "The most ancient of all the ancient secret societies."

"That doesn't really help."

Bellamy motioned for them to sit down. "This is gonna take awhile. The Illuminati," he began, "is said to have been founded at the dawn of humanity. Its members are wealthy and powerful, and they have used this influence to spin out the web of history as they please."

"They're spiders?"

"Every war, every treaty, every assassination, all that stuff? They're responsible for it. _Ordine attraverso il caos_ -'order through chaos.' That's their motto."

The Pirate With A Scarf was beginning to question Black Bellamy's sanity. "This isn't making any - "

"I'm not done yet! Those guys that attacked you, were they wearing masks?"

"Yes."

"Did they look like this?" He pointed at a picture in the book. In it was a person wearing the red outfit and the white mask.

"Exactly like that!" the Pirate Captain exclaimed. "What's that all about?"

"It means they've surrendered their identities to the cause. The ones that had identities to begin with, anyway."

"Huh?"

"The kids they have don't get names. They're brought up to think of themselves as a group, not people. All they ever know is their training."

"What training?"

"Making plans, being devious, that sort of thing. And fighting, lots of fighting. They're supposedly such good warriors that only other members can defeat them."

The Pirate With A Scarf looked up. _"Really."_

"That's what the book says."

"But...can't anyone stop this lot?"

Bellamy grinned. "That," he said, "is the most important part. Thousands of years ago, there was a war amongst the members of the Illuminati. Some of them - the ones that patrolled the seas - thought what they were doing was wrong. They wanted to break away and tear down their masters. They didn't, but they weren't wiped out. They're still around, flying the skull and crossbones...sound familiar?"

"You're joking."

"We've been at war for centuries! In fact, we began plundering ships to deprive them of their wealth. Most pirates don't know about that, though. They've forgotten it all. Do you know why we started attacking the Spanish Main? Because we were searching for their hideout."

"Wait, the Spanish Main?" the Pirate Captain said. He pulled the map out of his coat and looked at it. "Of _course!"_ he exclaimed. "Bellamy, the people that attacked us wanted this map we found. It must lead to their hideout! And they kidnapped the Pirate King because of it! Here, let me show you..."

"Captain?" the Pirate With A Scarf said. "I'm going to go back to the ship, alright?"

"Fine, fine," said the Pirate Captain, not really listening. "There were these tracks, you see, and they went upstairs..."

Once he was outside again, the Pirate With A Scarf leaned against the tavern wall to try and clear his head. Normally he would not allow himself to believe in such stories. But there had been the map, and the strange figures...

_...only other members can defeat them..._

Stepping back into the street, the Pirate With A Scarf marched off towards the ship. An idea was forming in his head. A mad, dangerous and very intriguing idea.


	5. The Question

The shouts could be heard from the other end of the wharf.

"Loblolly!"

"Blatherskite!"

"Git!"

_"You're_ a git!"

_"What_ is going on here?"

The Pirate With A Scarf was standing at the top of the gangplank watching the dogpile which his fellow pirates had formed on deck. "Well?"

"We got bored," the Albino Pirate said as they all detached themselves from the mess, "so Pirate With Gout suggested we have an argument!"

"Captain and I leave you alone for twenty minutes...oh, never mind. Where's Charles?"

"In the hold," said the Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate. "Sleepin' right now, though. Got a bit of a fever."

"Has he done anything weird?"

The blonde-bearded pirate shrugged. "Not weirder than usual."

Opening the hatch in the deck, the Pirate With A Scarf climbed down into the hold where the crew slept. Their hammocks were rolled up and stored away at the moment, but one was hanging in the corner. Sure enough, there was Charles.

The man certainly didn't look like a member of some ancient psychopath club. He was paler than usual, and drops of sweat were forming on his brow. He moved about slightly, mumbling under his breath. Looking at him now, it was hard to believe the incident in the palace had even happened.

"Scarf!" a pirate called from above. "Captain's back!"

Sighing, the Pirate With A Scarf turned away. _I'll deal with you later._ "Captain?" he asked as he climbed back up on deck. "We need to talk about...oh, now _why_ did you bring _that?"_

The Pirate Captain was holding the book which Black Bellamy had shown them. "Why shouldn't I? This will be essential to our adventure! One must know their enemy, Number Two."

"I want to speak with you about that, sir. In private."

"Very well. Knock yourselves out, lads!" The Pirate Captain tossed the book to Mr. Bobo, its force pushing him over. "Can you believe Bellamy was kind enough to let me have it?" he continued as he and the Pirate With A Scarf went into the cabin. "And all we have to do in return is tell everyone how important he was in our rescue of the Pirate King - "

"You told him what happened, yes?"

"Of course."

"And you told him how those men were defeated."

"Actually, I left that bit out."

"You _what?"_

"I didn't want him thinking we all just stood there like idiots. So if anyone asks, say we grabbed the map, jumped out the window and disappeared into the jungle."

"Captain...!"

"What is it, Number Two?"

The Pirate With A Scarf was silent for a moment, trying to get his words together.

"Have you seen Charles?" the captain asked before he could speak. "The lads say he's not doing too well. And right after all that training finally paid off. You'll look after him, won't you?"

The Pirate With A Scarf could disobey orders if he had to. This, however, was a request.

"Well?"

"...Yes, Captain."

"Good man!" he said happily. "Now, what did you want to tell me?"

"Just...that I'm worried about you."

"I'll be fine," said the Pirate Captain, putting a hand on his first mate's shoulder. "You're ever so good at making sure of that."

"Keep a knife or something on you. Just in case."

The captain rolled his eyes but nodded. "Honestly, Number Two," he said as they went back outside, "with the way you're going on, one would think those lubbers were here right now!"

* * *

 

_Lights were flickering in the darkness, carrying with them the faint strains of a waltz. The music got louder as they surrounded him and swirled high above his head. He felt rather small looking at them, he noted._

_One of them descended to his level and hovered enticingly in front of his face. Curious, he reached forward and touched it. He immediately pulled back, gasping in pain and clutching his seared fingers; the sparkling light was colder than ice._

_He watched as it grew, shining ever brighter while the other lights moved to it and were absorbed by it. The waltz got faster, quickly becoming a frenzied screech of noise. All of a sudden, the star exploded in a burst of fire. Two gunshots rang in his ears, along with two screams. Screams very much like his own, but not quite._

_A pair of bony hands clamped around his neck and lifted him off his feet. For one terrible second, the mask appeared, looming in front of him. Then the hands tossed him backwards and he was falling through nothingness. Down, down, down..._

...and then he banged his head on the floor.

Charles staggered to his feet, the screams still ringing in his ears. His vision was blurry, and his head was spinning. Through the darkness he could see the faint outlines of hammocks. How long had he been sleeping?

Dim light was coming from outside - along with, he thought, the sound of laughter. _Maybe they're still up._ Trying to stay quiet, he crept to the hatch and climbed up onto the deck.

They were still moored at Blood Island. The sky was starting to lighten, and the sun's edge was peeking out over the horizon. Both the ship and the wharf were quiet as death.

Charles stared out at the ocean, breathing in the cool morning air. Almost subconsciously, he pulled out the ring and began to fondle it. "It was just a nightmare, Chuck. Just a nightmare..."

"Is that what you think?"

Perched atop the mast, staring down with black eyes, was one of _them._

Charles's throat seemed to freeze with fear. He slowly began to back towards the cabin door, but a pair of hands gripped his arms and pinned them behind his back. "No need to run," a deep voice whispered in his ear. "We are friends."

"I've no idea who you are."

"He sleeps still, _illuminato,"_ the first figure said. Theirs was a man's voice, somewhat high, with an Italian accent. "But not for long."

"W-What do you mean?"

The man slid down the mast and walked towards Charles, all without a sound. "This mind," he said as he tapped his prisoner's forehead, "is false and weak and pathetic. It keeps your true mind asleep. But when the true mind awakes, the false mind shall die." He leaned in closer. "We are here to kill it."

_"Get away from me!"_ Charles yelled, desperately trying to get his arms free.

The second man clapped one hand over Charles's mouth, and with the other held a small knife to his neck. "Of course, we need not stop with the mind."

"He is no use to us dead." The first man then turned back to Charles. "Do you promise to not run?"

He nodded.

"Set him free."

The second man let Charles go and stepped away.

"Now," said the first man, "your questions. You have many, do you not?"

"Who are you? What are your names?"

"We have none. All belong to _gli Illuminati."_

"Which is?" "Those who build the world. The guardians of order."

"What do you want with..." Charles trailed off, his eyes drifting towards the man's right hand. "...What's that?"

The stranger had removed his glove, and on his hand was a ring. A ring just like his.

"And now," the man said with a dark chuckle, "my questions. What is that around your neck?" He grabbed Charles's ring and held it up to his own. "The symbol we all wear. And look! One and the same, these two. Do you know _now_ who you are?"

Charles shut his eyes, fighting back sobs of terror. "Go away," he choked out. "P-Please, just go away..."

They didn't answer him. Almost as if they weren't even there. _Wait a minute..._

He opened his eyes. Sure enough, his tormentors had vanished. Into thin air, it seemed; they had made no noise as they fled. Not that he really cared. He collapsed on the deck, his heart still racing from the encounter.

"I thought I heard something."

The Pirate With A Scarf was standing behind him, looking more annoyed with Charles than usual. "What are you doing?"

Charles barely noticed him. He was suddenly feeling feverish again. _Perhaps that's all it was._ He looked around, hoping for a sign that they hadn't really been there. But he could still feel the spot where the knife had pressed against his throat and remember his arms being pinned. He looked down; a smudge of grime which had not been there before was on his mother's ring.

If that was what it was.

"Hello? Can you hear me? I said are you feeling alright?"

"I don't know," Charles said, remembering the man's last words to him. "I don't know..."

_"RISE AND SHINE!"_ The Pirate Captain flung open the cabin door and strode onto the deck. "Adventure time, lads! By Neptune, where _are_ those masked ruffians?"


	6. Words (And Creepy Drawings) With Friends

_My name is Charles Darwin. I'm a scientist, and nothing more. I was born in Shrewsbury. I lived in London awhile. I sailed around the world for five years. Then I was captured by pirates, but they're my friends now. Well, most of them. I hate bloodshed. I'm a bit of a coward. Sometimes more than a bit._

"What's that?" the Albino Pirate chirped, looking over Charles's shoulder at his journal.

"Some facts."

"I know lots of facts! Do you want to hear them?"

Before Charles could respond, the Albino Pirate had sat down next to him and was rambling away. "The sky is blue except when it's not. Captain has the most luxuriant beard of all pirates. Ham is shaped like ham, and - "

"Not _those_ kinds of facts."

"Oh. What kind, then?"

"Facts about me. Like this." Charles wrote another sentence in his journal: _I am NOT one of those Illuminati._

"Of course not! You scared them off, remember?"

"I've been trying not to."

The Albino Pirate sensed that his friend was unhappy. "If they're facts about you, why are you writing them down? You ought to know them already."

"I do, it's just...I need to be sure."

The crew had set off on their adventure several weeks ago. The Pirate Captain was in high spirits, assuring everyone that they would reach their destination in no time. He was the only one enthusiastic about it - the others had only a faint idea of what was going on. By order of the captain, they had tried to read the book, but it was mostly in Latin and incomprehensible. Charles avoided it for a different reason; he didn't know much of the language, yet when he had opened the book, the words were somehow as clear to him as though he'd been reading them all his life.

Ever since this business had started, his problems had only gotten worse. New dreams plagued him each night, some merely strange and most of them horrifying. He had gotten barely any sleep because he was afraid to. His headache was now all but ever-present and disappeared only when he wrote. The rest of the time, it felt like there was something in his brain pushing outwards, trying to break free. And he was starting to have a very unpleasant theory as to what - or who - that thing might be.

The Pirate With A Scarf stuck his head into the hold, where most of the crew was relaxing. "Captain says extra practice for the next few days."

Charles tried not to groan. "What for?"

Scarf looked him over judgmentally. "We're getting close," he answered before leaving.

"He wouldn't be so rough on ya if ya tried harder," the Pirate With Gout said. "Do what ya did at Blood Island."

"Even if I _wanted_ to, I couldn't!"

"An' why not?"

"...That's when my head's at its worst." Shutting the journal, Charles stood up and climbed out of the hold. Once on the deck, he walked to the edge and stared down at the churning ocean as it reflected the red sunset. _Red._ That was a color he'd been growing to hate. The pain was already returning, strong as ever. He sat on a nearby crate and tried to write again, but nothing came to mind.

"There's no use taking it out on them."

He looked up. The Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate had followed him. "Not if they've no idea what's troubling you, at least," he continued as he pulled up another crate and took a seat next to his friend.

"It'd be _very_ hard to explain."

"Prove it, then."

Charles gave him an annoyed look, but finally sighed and nodded. "Can you keep a secret?"

The pirate practically giggled. "You, sir, have no idea."

"I've been...having these strange dreams."

"Good strange or bad strange?"

"Oh, definitely bad. They're always about those people. In the worst one, I'm standing right here on deck and they just show up out of nowhere..."

"What are you doing with your hands?"

"What am I...?" Charles looked down at the open journal and threw it on the floor with a scream. On the page was a sketch of the eye which had been haunting him. "Did I just draw that?"

The Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate picked up the journal. "While you were talking. Didn't even look at the page, either." He handed it back to Charles. "Keep going, maybe it'll happen again."

"And _why_ do we want _that?"_

"One, it might tell us something important. And two, it's rather interesting. Now come on!"

With trembling fingers, Charles picked up his pen and closed his eyes. "I've been having terrible dreams the last few weeks. About those Illuminati people." He could feel his hand moving. Resisting the urge to see what it was drawing, he continued. "There's this really bad one I keep having. I'm standing on the deck just minding my own business, and all of a sudden they're right there..."

He retold his encounter with the Illuminati, not omitting a single word and almost not a single detail. Technically he wasn't lying when he said it was a dream, as it _had_ been his chief nightmare for the entire voyage. He told of the lights, the music, the gunshots, the screams - everything he could think of. After what seemed an eternity, he felt his hand stop. "Is it done?" he asked, still not opening his eyes.

"Yep," the Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate said. "Not that it makes any sense."

Charles opened his eyes. A most unusual picture had sprung from his subconscious; below the eye, a jungle thick with trees sprawled across the page. In the center of the scene, towering over its surroundings, stood a pyramid. Every brick in it was carefully drawn, the top was shaded in - probably capped with something, he thought - and a pair of double doors were set in the front. Above it all hovered the eye, which seemed to look down in approval.

"What does it mean?" he thought aloud.

"Does it have to mean something? They're just dreams."

"But what if they're not? What if something's happening to me? What if..." He paused, searching for the right words. "What if I end up not being _me_ anymore?"

The Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate looked at him sadly. "You really think that will happen?"

He nodded.

"Don't let it happen, then. Simple as that."

"Okay...?"

"You'll be fine. You're durable," he added with a gentle punch to Charles's arm.

Charles managed a smile. "Well, I've made it this far."

_"Land ho!"_

The Pirate Captain had burst through the cabin door in half a second. "What is it?" he yelled at the crow's nest before racing to the bow to see for himself. A large island was a few miles ahead, pitch black against the quickly darkening sky.

"Do you think we should stop?" Charles asked.

"Of course," the captain answered. "It's where we're going."


	7. Pyramid Of Secrets

That night was, without a doubt, the blackest which the crew had ever seen. The moon and stars had decided to take the night off, making it all but impossible to steer the ship. They anchored it a short distance from the island and resolved to go ashore in the lifeboat. But first, there was the discussion of their plan. Specifically, the Pirate Captain's plan.

While the Pirate Captain went on and on, emphasizing the importance of their mission and downplaying the possibility of violent death while occasionally throwing in a bit of Shakespeare, Charles kept glancing out at the island. From the light of the ship's lanterns, he could faintly see some of its features. Mainly how it was consumed by a sprawling, tangled wall-like mass of jungle. He suppressed a shudder as he wondered what might be lurking inside. Even now it could be hiding dozens of the Illuminati, watching and mocking their prey.

The Pirate Captain, meanwhile, had finally gotten around to explaining his strategy. "To be brief," he was saying, "we land, sneak about, find their base of operations and give them the Leeroy Jenkins treatment. Any questions?"

"They can probably find their way around this island with their eyes closed," Charles said, taking another worried look at it. "Even if we find where they're hiding, they'd catch us in a - "

He turned back around and immediately wished he hadn't.

"Don't worry, it's us! The pirates!" his friend said from beneath a makeshift Illuminati mask which didn't even cover his beard. "Masters of disguise, remember?"

"Yes..."

He held up another mask. "Made one for you, too."

"Splendid. Just _splendid."_

* * *

 

_How do they even **see** in these things?_

"Hurry up," the Pirate With A Scarf called back.

"I'm trying..."

Charles didn't have the slightest idea of where he was going. The two eyeholes in the mask were barely big enough to look through, and everything seemed black anyway. Plus, simply wearing the thing put him on the verge of a panic attack.

He tripped over a rock and fell to the ground. He tried to get up, but then seriously considered the option of lying there. _Maybe they'll forget about me._

A hand gently grasped his arm and helped him to his feet. "If it makes you feel any better," he heard the Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate say, "you look terrible in that."

"Good." He couldn't help but think that the person trapped inside his head wouldn't feel the same.

The Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate stooped down to examine the rock. "Captain!" he called after a few seconds.

He came crashing back with the others behind him, waving his sword wildly. "What is it? Where are they?"

"I think we've found them." Snatching the Pirate With A Scarf's lantern, the Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate held it down to the rock. A black arrow pointing west was painted on it, along with the eye.

"Clever," the Pirate Captain said admirably. "But not clever enough for _us._ Come on, lads!" He headed off in the direction of the arrow while the others followed reluctantly, Charles most of all.

Many more of the rocks were found. Some pointed them in the direction they were going, while others indicated a new direction. The pirates dutifully went where they were told, their path twisting and turning and going in more than a few circles.

"Captain," the Pirate With A Scarf finally said, "don't you think it's possible that - "

"Is it sunup already?" asked the Albino Pirate.

"We can't have been walking _that_ long!"

"But it's right there."

They all looked in the direction he was pointing. Just over a cliff up ahead was the glow of flickering lights.

"Doesn't look like any sunup I've ever seen," said the Pirate With Gout.

Mr. Bobo crept to the cliff's edge, then turned back to the others with wide eyes. _**You. Need. To. See. This.**_

The others followed him. "Well," said the Pirate Captain when he'd gotten over his shock, "that's a tad anachronistic."

A row of steps led down the cliffside into a large clearing, and in that clearing sat the last thing Charles wanted to see right then.

The pyramid looked exactly as it had in the drawing. Huge and foreboding, it loomed over the surrounding flora. The limestone bricks used to make it were chipped, cracked and quite obviously ancient. The top, however, was capped with a triangle of gold. The eye was etched into it, staring soullessly ahead. Dozens of brightly burning torches lined the steps and created a path to the base of the building. A set of monolithic bronze doors were embedded there, the torchlight giving them a glow which seemed to beckon to the travelers.

Plucking a torch from the ground, the Pirate Captain began to slowly descend the cliffside. "Coast is clear, lads." Indeed, there were no guards to be seen.

Charles fell to the back of the line. _Perhaps I can run. Find my way back to the ship and say I got lost. No, they'd never believe that. If I even **found** the ship. I'd just be killed out there. Then again, I stand a much higher chance of dying in here...oh, what's the point? No one will miss me either way._

He tried to stop, turn around, do anything other than walk forward, but he couldn't even feel his feet. He could only watch helplessly as they moved him along the path and up to the doors. _This,_ he thought, _is going to be most unpleasant._

The Pirate Captain approached the doors and cautiously prodded them. To his surprise, they swung open easily. On the other side was a gloomy corridor concealed by shadows. Holding up the torch, the captain led his crew into it. Dust and dirt carpeted the stone floor, and cobwebs were in every corner. It seemed as though the hall had never even been used.

A sickening feeling arose in Charles, and he began pushing his way to the front of the group. "Captain? Captain, I think we should - "

"Not now, Chuck! New developments!"

The hallway abruptly ended at another pair of bronze doors. These also swung open with just a touch, revealing a round, dimly-lit room. The captain was just about to step grandly over the threshold when Charles grabbed his arm. "Captain, _don't."_

"Why not?"

The man didn't seem to hear him. "Do you have anything we can toss?" he asked.

Rummaging around in his beard, the Pirate Captain eventually pulled out a dead squid. "Don't think I'm using this for anything. Then again - "

Charles snatched it out of his hand. "You might want to step back," he told the others. Holding the squid just over the threshold of the room, he let it drop to the floor.

It was amazing how much happened in one second. The squid landed right where the captain was about to step, a clanking noise came from above, and then a yard-long sword shot from the ceiling and skewered the cephalapod like tissue paper. The shocked pirates watched as the blade ascended out of view, carrying the corpse with it.

"Sweet Neptune," the Pirate Captain squeaked after a long silence. "How on _earth_ did you know about that, Charles?"

"I...I just..."

"Help! It's trying to eat me!"

A large hole in the wall had appeared where the Albino Pirate had been standing. The others watched as he staggered out of it, shivering in fear. "I leaned on it and it tried to eat me!" he was saying.

They peered through the secret door. A spiral stairway led underground, and torches lined its walls.

"See?" said the captain. "Not clever enough."

* * *

 

The passageway seemed to go on forever. The torches had stopped appearing after the first few turns, and the captain's own was growing faint. Soon they would be in complete darkness.

"Where do they live, the center of the earth?" the Pirate Captain asked in frustration.

"It could be another trap," the Pirate With A Scarf said. "We should go back - "

"Do you hear that?" Charles suddenly asked.

"Hear what?" Charles was already heading swiftly down the stairs, focused on the faint noise. Or rather, the music. The feeling of sickness returned as the sound got clearer; it was the waltz from his dreams, no doubt about it.

He bumped into yet another door. The source of the music was on the other side of it, along with dozens of voices. He felt for a doorknob, but there didn't seem to be one.

"For goodness sakes, Chuck, what's gotten into you?" the Pirate Captain said as he and the rest of the crew stumbled after their friend.

The Pirate With A Scarf pulled him aside. "Captain, there's something I have to tell you..."

There was a tiny hole in the door, Charles noticed. A hole exactly the same size and shape as the ruby on his ring. Checking to see that no one was watching, he took it out and stuck it into the hole with the band facing outwards. He turned it like a key, and the door softly unlocked. "There we go."

Scarf whirled back around with an expression of surprise and anger. "How did - "

Charles had already hidden the ring again. He opened the door, and the pirates found themselves staring into what might as well have been another world.

Before them was a huge, lavish ballroom filled with dozens of people. Some were dancing, some were chatting in corners, some of them had formed a band and were playing the waltz. All were dressed elegantly and wearing the masks.

The Pirate Captain entered first. "Act natural, lads," he told the crew as he strode towards a group of masked figures in dresses. "Evening, _mademoiselles."_ The women looked at him and quickly moved away, shaking their heads.

Meanwhile, Charles had backed into a corner, his head pounding. He looked around. Torches lining the walls were the only source of light, and they cast long, twisted shadows over everything. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, twinkling like stars. A mural was painted on one wall, depicting a barren battlefield with people being killed in numerous gruesome ways. Above it all hung a red banner emblazoned with the one-eyed skull and crossbones, which seemed to watch the proceedings. There was something else he noticed; everyone was wearing a ring just like his.

Slowly, almost subconsciously, he removed the ring, took it off its ribbon and slipped it onto his finger. And once again, it served as a key.

_He was scampering around the room, laughing and dancing to the music. The adults all stared down at him with approval. "A fine child," they always said of him. "So young and yet so accomplished. Almost as if he knows he will be chosen..."_

His vision, which had grown hazy, cleared. His headache, which had dissipated, returned with a vengeance.

The Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate was at his side. "What's wrong?"

Charles gripped his friend's arm to keep himself upright from the force of this new blow. "I've been here before."

The waltz abruptly stopped, and so did everyone in the room. One of the women the captain had spoken to looked around, raised her hand and snapped her fingers.

And in the blink of an eye, the pirates were surrounded.


	8. Prisoners

"No need to worry, lads. Just a temporary setback."

"Captain, we're in a _dungeon."_

"...Thank you for the observation, Number Two. But what is a dungeon?" The captain paused for effect, although no one took notice. "It's just a cage! Easy to escape! Why, even Polly's gotten quite accomplished at it! Haven't you, girl?"

Polly just looked at him askance.

The Pirate Captain picked up a stray rock and started bouncing it off the cell wall. "It'll be easy. We could tunnel out - "

"And hit either rock or lava," the Pirate With A Scarf said.

"Considerin' our luck, it'd probably be both," added the Pirate With Gout.

"Good point. We go out the window, then - "

"There isn't one."

"Then we'll carve our own keys or fake our deaths or..." He could feel the eyes of his lads staring at him. "We'll think of _something._ You get twenty-six chances, after all! Plan A and Plan B and so forth. Perhaps Charles can think of something. Are you listening, Chuck?"

Charles had been curled up in a corner for the past few hours. He hadn't spoken, and the only movements he'd made were the occasional blink.

"Never mind, then. What we _really_ need," the Pirate Captain continued as he absentmindedly tossed the rock aside, "is someone who's been here awhile."

The rock struck a large mass in the shadows, triggering a roar that shook the whole cell. _**"WHO DARES DISTURB ME?"**_

Standing up, the Pirate King stormed into the light. His crown was gone, his outfit was missing several gems and he was covered in cobwebs, but it was still him. _"Well?_ Answer!"

"It's us, Your Majesty," said the Pirate With A Scarf. "The Pirate Captain and his crew."

"We've come to rescue you!" the captain added.

"And a fine job you've done, too!" the Pirate King said sarcastically.

"Why, thank you," the Pirate Captain started to say, but a glare from the king silenced him. "Ah, yes. The whole dungeon thing. We were just discussing that."

"Don't bother! There's _no_ chance of escape. Those fiends would be upon us at once! If only I'd been _quicker..."_

"What do you mean?" the captain asked.

The Pirate King pulled him close. "Do you know what lies beneath the ground of this island?"

"More ground...?"

 _"Gunpowder!_ Barrels upon barrels of it! They put it there, you see. If those idiots ever decide they're facing certain defeat, they'll blow themselves up! Can you imagine? Dying a coward's death rather than giving their foes a decent fight! The _nerve!"_

"Wait. How did you even know about this?"

The Pirate King loudly cleared his throat. "Many, _many_ years ago, I sent two spies to infiltrate the ranks of these curs. Brave souls, they were! Would have been _greatly_ rewarded!"

"Would have been?"

"They never returned. All we found was their papers corked up in a bottle."

On an impulse, the Pirate Captain reached into his coat and took out the map. "Was this inside it?" he asked.

The Pirate King snatched it away. "Did you _enter_ my _study_ without _permission?"_

"With all due respect, sir," the Pirate With A Scarf said, "there wasn't much left of it."

"So they _did_ tear it apart, then. Just as they threatened." Banging on the wall, he let out another roar. _**"CURSE YOU, DAMNED ROGUES!"**_

"Don't! They'll hear you!" said the Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate.

"They care not for us!"

"It's possible," the Pirate Captain said. "If they wanted to kill us or something, they'd have done so by now - "

Then the cell door opened.

He remembered whirling around and coming face to face with four of the Illuminati. He remembered being grabbed by the shoulders and spun back around while a black blindfold was forced over his eyes. He remembered the gasps and protests of his crew.

Above it all, he remembered Charles' screams.

* * *

 

_What's wrong? Why don't they just get it over with? Believe me, at this point I'm **more** than ready._

Had he really just thought that?

_Perhaps they just want to drag it out. Or they're preparing something especially gruesome._

He knew the real answer - he just didn't want to think about it.

"Chuck? Chuck, can you see what's going on?"

Charles desperately wanted to answer the captain, but the hands on his shoulders gripped his shoulders a bit tighter each time he opened his mouth. And besides, he couldn't have described what he was seeing.

It wasn't that he was unable to see; unlike the Pirate Captain, they hadn't put a blindfold on him. Probably because they took delight in the terror on his face. Thus he had watched himself and the captain be pushed to the far end of the dungeon, through a door, down another spiral staircase and finally into a dimly lit, tunnel-like labyrinth.

"Exactly how much spare time do you people _have?"_

 _Far too much,_ Charles thought. Enough time to memorize the path of the maze, apparently; their four captors seemed to know it well, despite its many twists, dead ends and overlapping paths.

He tried to pay attention to the route. _Maybe they plan to leave us here and see if we can find a way out. We could do that, couldn't we? I mean, why else would they let me look?_

It was a poor substitute for real hope, but it would have to do.

They were turned around yet another corner and found themselves standing in front of a narrow wooden door. It was pushed open, but before they could get a good look at it, their captors roughly shoved them inside. They landed face-first on the cold stone tile while the door was slammed and locked behind them.

The Pirate Captain immediately tore the blindfold off. "This has officially stopped being fun."

_"Officially?"_

"Of course, it became unofficial after that bit with the sword...where are we, anyway?"

They got to their feet and looked around. Frescoes depicting horrific battles and killings covered the walls of the spacious circular room they were in. An iron chandelier holding torches hung from the ceiling. A red silk rug was placed in the center of the room. A small, square mahogany table and two chairs were placed upon it, and upon the table was a chess set which had been prepared for a game. One chair was empty. In the other sat a tall masked man wearing long, flowing black robes and a wide black cap. He was drumming his fingers impatiently on the table, and as he turned towards his two visitors, Charles could sense that beneath the mask, he was smiling.

"Welcome."


	9. The Quartermaster

"Welcome."

They didn't answer.

"The captain and the scientist, I assume."

"...You don't know that," Charles managed to say.

"Oh, but I do." The man chuckled. "I know whatever I wish to know."

"Really?" said the Pirate Captain. "Well, so do I. And right, I wish to know _exactly_ what's going on here!"

The man gestured to the empty chair. "Sit down."

"Finally, someone with a sense of decency - "

"Not you." He held his hand out towards Charles. "Mr. Darwin."

Charles blanched. "What...?"

"That will be all, captain. You are dismissed."

"Now hold on a - _AAAAAHHHH!"_

Charles jumped back as a trap door abruptly opened beneath the Pirate Captain. He went tumbling into the dark hole below, his shouts echoing through the room.

The man nodded approvingly. "We may talk without disturbance now."

"What was _that_ for?" Charles snapped at him, his anger briefly triumphing over his fear. "If you hurt him, I swear I'll - "

"You won't. But go on, finish."

"...Never mind."

"Then sit down."

There was something about this fellow, something which made Charles want to follow his orders. Not that he liked it. "Who are you?" he asked as he sat in the empty chair.

"The Quartermaster."

"Not really what I meant, but that's a start."

"Oh, I know what you meant," the Quartermaster said. "But you already know what you ask."

"I am _very_ sure that I don't."

"You haven't thought about it."

"I don't need to - "

_"Think."_

He thought. "A...a quartermaster steers a ship?"

"Steers a people, in this case. But that shall do, Mr. Darwin." He was drumming his fingers on the table again. "What kind of a name is that?" he asked mischievously.

"It's _my_ name, thank you very much!"

The Quartermaster ignored his outburst. "What think you of this place? Such an ingenious design. We invented it, you know. The pyramid, the labyrinth...even the dungeon."

"...Interesting..."

"I thought you would find it so."

Charles could sense him smiling again. "What's this all about, then?" he asked quickly. "Why'd you bring us here?"

The Quartermaster turned away from him to stare at an especially violent fresco. "The pinnacle of beauty," he said with admiration.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The days when the world was in torment. We were so powerful back then...there was such excitement. Now there is only _peace."_

Charles slowly looked around, staring at the images. Masks were hidden within them, tucked into corners and beneath rocks, lurking behind unsuspecting kings, holding daggers and poised to strike. "Why?" was all he could choke out.

"No one noticed us amidst the destruction. We slipped ourselves into history, behind the thrones of the great leaders. Sometimes onto them," the Quartermaster added with a fond laugh. "Building the world as we saw fit. An order born of chaos. Maintained by chaos. That was the price which had to be paid."

"But _why?"_

The Quartermaster returned to the chess table. Stretching out a gnarled, bony finger, he effortlessly flicked over every white piece on the board except the king. He then placed his hand upon the black king and slid it forward until it stood before its counterpart. "We all need a way to amuse ourselves." With another simple flick, the white king was toppled.

An expression of horror crossed Charles' face, instantly followed by one of revulsion. "So it's a _game."_

"A most excellent one."

"People have died because of you."

"Oh, not me. The time of our power is long gone. But it is coming again." He picked up the black king and casually played with it. "It will not take much. A single bullet, perhaps."

The headache was beginning to grow. "But what do pirates have to do with all this? What do I have to do with all this?"

"Pirates? They are merely another set of pieces. Pathetic ones. They betrayed us, vowed to destroy us and failed at even that. We would kill them all did they not cause such excitement wherever they go. And as for _you_...well, what do you think?"

"I don't want to know," he said, backing towards the door.

The Quartermaster followed him. "They said your new mind was weak. Must I do _everything_ myself...?"

Charles was up against the door now, madly searching for another way out and not finding one. His legs had decided to stop working again. He could only watch as the Quartermaster approached. "I am _not_ like you..."

"You should know better," the man said, "than to speak such things...my student."

And then his forehead burned.

* * *

 

_"Who are you?"_

_"Your student, subject and servant, Quartermaster," he answered with a bow._

_"What is your purpose?"_

_"To serve you and lead our people back to glory."_

_"Well put. What have you been taught?"_

_"Fighting. With weapons and with words."_

_"And what else?"_

_"Order is born from chaos, and it lives on chaos."_

_"And what shall you do with this knowledge?"_

_"Create chaos so that order may live again."_

_He grinned with delight as his father spoke with the Quartermaster, who nodded and bowed to him. The long nights in the library, the hours of endless combat training, the days he forced himself to study when he could barely stay awake, every second of his seven years on this earth - it had all been in preparation for this moment._

_The Quartermaster took his hand and turned him to face the packed ballroom. "Illuminati!" he shouted. "I present to you the boy who shall become your next Quartermaster!"_

* * *

 

"How they cheered for you that night, my student," the Quartermaster was saying. "You kept calling it the greatest hour of your life. But there's no need to remind you, is there?"

Charles had slumped to the floor and was curled up in a ball, not even trying to muffle his shouts of pain. The dark, terrible thing in his brain had broken its bonds, and he could feel it seeping through his mind.

"Stop resisting it," the Quartermaster told him. "It has been oppressed for far too long, by someone who was never even real."

 _But I was!_ he wanted to scream. _I **am!**_

Everything seemed to be getting brighter, and he was feeling lightheaded. "Hold on," he mumbled to himself. _Don't let it happen, don't let it happen._ "Hold on, hold on...hold...on..."

And with that, he descended into darkness.

The Quartermaster poked the unconscious body of his student, checking for a sign of life. It would be most annoying if the return had killed him. At last, however, he opened his eyes. For a second, there seemed to be a glint of relief in them. But when he looked again, it had vanished and was replaced with a look of cold loyalty. "Student? Are you there?"

The man once known as Charles Darwin slowly got back on his feet and bowed to his master. "I'm here."


	10. Enlightenment

It wasn't all that surprising once he thought about it. It _was_ customary for him to be tied up at this point in an adventure. It was _not,_ however, customary to be facing death as certain as this.

The Pirate Captain cast another worried look downwards. He must have been hanging ten feet or so above the pool of water. They had tied him up, sailed him to the center of the lake in a small boat and hoisted him above it. The lack of light in the tall, narrow cave made the water seem black, and a few shapes not unlike bones could be seen floating in it. A few Illuminati stood upon a small dock at the water's edge tossing large chunks of ice into it. The mere thought of how cold it must be getting was enough to make the captain shiver. He tried squirming again - no luck. The ropes were far too tight. They snaked around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. These were hooked to another rope which ran up to the cave ceiling, through a pulley and back down to his level, where it was tied to the rail of a balcony carved out of the rock. _That's it!_

Waiting until the men on the dock had finished their work and left, the Pirate Captain fixed his gaze on the balcony and began swinging towards it. If he could use his hands, he would be applauding his cleverness at the moment. "Almost there..."

"I was hoping to see your idea of an escape attempt."

The balcony door abruptly opened up, and the tall masked man from before stepped onto the balcony carrying a torch. Another was following him, a small dagger hanging from his belt. "Greetings again, captain," the Quartermaster said warmly. "How have you been?"

"Better than you were hoping, I'm sure," he answered. "Although I must admit, you have a _fine_ operation down here. I'd very much love to see how it works - "

"Flattery shall not save your life, captain."

"You know that trick too, then?"

"We were the first to use it." He leaned upon the balcony, obviously enjoying the scene before him. "Well?"

"Well, _what?"_

"Don't you wish to know how you are going to die?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but I think I've got it figured out."

"Do tell."

"It's quite simple, really," the Pirate Captain said as he continued to flail. "You cut the rope, I fall in the water, I either drown or freeze to death. Bingo."

The Quartermaster stared at him for a moment, and then he threw back his head and laughed cruelly. _"Almost_ correct."

"What did you do, put sharks in there?" Circumstances aside, the idea of fighting sharks did appeal to him.

"I will not be the one cutting the rope."

"And that's important?"

"For you, it shall be."

"I don't see how..." The Pirate Captain's words stuck in his throat as the second figure stepped forward. Even with his face hidden behind one of those dreadful masks, he could tell who it was. "...Charles?"

"Not anymore," the Quartermaster said smugly.

Now the Pirate Captain began to properly struggle. "What have you done to him? Chuck, listen to me! You have to get us out of here!"

"Kill him," the Quartermaster commanded his student. "While he's looking right in your eyes."

"He'll do no such thing!" the Pirate Captain shot back. "Right, Charles?"

Charles - if it even _was_ Charles - didn't answer. He merely pulled out the dagger. Not taking his eyes off his friend's face, he silently moved to the rope and held the weapon against it.

"Chuck?" the captain said quietly. "I...hope you can hear me. If you can, well...well, you know what to do."

"Enough," said the Quartermaster. "End this. _Now."_

His student nodded. He gripped the dagger, dragged it once across the rope...and then spun around to point it at his master. "What happened to me?"

Both the Quartermaster and the captain were stunned into silence. When the former finally spoke, the calm demeanor of his voice had cracked slightly. "You were supposed to change back. You had remembered."

"I did. So why am I still here, hmm?"

The old man didn't answer, while the Pirate Captain wondered if he should interrupt.

"Something's missing. Right after that ceremony, there's just a hole. And you don't want me to remember what was in it, do you?"

"What makes you believe it was anything of importance?"

"Besides the obvious?"

For once, the Pirate Captain decided against interrupting.

"And," Charles continued as he held up his left hand, "I've got _this."_ The ring was still there, glinting in the feeble light.

"We all receive them when we come of age."

"Really? I've had this one for twenty years. And for all that time, I thought I'd gotten it from my mother. But you know that, don't you?"

This time he heard the Quartermaster mutter something like "Curse that woman..."

Despite his quivering hands, Charles aimed the dagger at the man's chest. "Tell me," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, "what did you do to my parents?"

The Quartermaster mumbled something he couldn't hear. "What?" he asked, moving close to him.

_"Ask them yourself."_

In half a second, he had suddenly been spun around while his arm had been grabbed and violently twisted behind his back. In the other half, the Quartermaster had forced the dagger out of his hand and shoved him forward. Then he was falling, vaguely aware of himself yelling, of the captain calling his name...

...and then the ice water came rushing up to meet him like an assault from every weapon imaginable.

* * *

 

_"Are you listening to me, student?"_

_"Yes, Quartermaster," he lied. The gentle rhythm of the waltz being played had stolen his attention, and he'd been swaying back and forth to it._

_The Quartermaster gave him a stern look but chose not to pursue the matter. Instead he continued rambling on about his heir's new duties; extra training, more history lessons, reading Caesar and Machiavelli and many other uninteresting things._

_Now was as good a time as ever to spring the question. "Will I still be allowed to go to the surface?" he asked cautiously._

_"Whatever for?" the Quartermaster snapped._

_"I was only wondering."_

_"Your duties and your life are far too important now," said his master. "We cannot risk losing you."_

_He waited until the Quartermaster had turned away to let his disappointment show. There was a double meaning to those final words, and he knew it. Although he would never admit to having such thoughts, he was far more interested in exploring the world around him than being shut in a dark room learning dark things. This had been coming for awhile, however. His parents had wanted this for him so badly, and he could not bring himself to disappoint them, even if it meant working until he could barely stand. But he had it now, and they were surely pleased._

_He was going to miss seeing those little finches, though._

_"Son!" he heard his father calling from across the room. He was standing at the door to the entrance hall, beckoning anxiously. Checking to make sure that the Quartermaster was busy and finding that he was, he silently slipped away. When he got to the door, his father had already vanished up the stairs. He followed him, up towards the surface and into the dark, dim passage. To his surprise, no one was there. "Father?" he whispered._

_The doors to the trap room were open. Perhaps that was where he'd gone. Carefully stepping over the rigged tiles, he slowly walked to the center of the domed area, looking into the shadowy archways._

_"Where is he?" a faint voice asked. The voice of his mother, he realized. "...after us soon...must flee..."_

_"Who's after you?" he called out to her. "Why must you - "_

_A pair of gloved hands grabbed him while a third held a pistol up to his head and cocked it. Screaming, he wrenched out of his attackers' grasp and sprinted for the nearest archway. Two shots rang out - but not from the stranger's gun._

_His father stepped out of the archway, a smoking revolver in his hand. "Come!" he shouted as the two men fell dead on the spot. "Quickly!"_

_Confused and more than a bit scared, he did as he was told and ran into the corridor. Instantly he felt his mother's arms enveloping him. "Oh, thank goodness!" she exclaimed, choking back tears._

_"Whatever's going on?" he asked worriedly._

_Before she could answer, they heard the sound of many feet rushing towards the room._

_His father hugged them both. "Go!" he said before he pushed them down the hall, drew his sword and turned to face the coming onslaught. He and his mother took one last look, and then ran off into the darkness. They didn't stop for anything - not even when the sounds of blood being spilled reached their ears._

_Their flight through the pyramid could only have lasted a minute or so, but it seemed to go on for ages. By the time they reached the dead end and his mother pried open the secret door leading outside, he was more tired than he'd ever been from training. He stumbled and fell while they were running through the jungle, and his mother had to take his hand and drag him along. She took him down to an unfamiliar beach where a little sailboat was sitting on the sand, ready to go. She put him into it, pushed it into the water and jumped aboard as the wind started to pick up. The unfurled sail quickly caught the breeze, and before long the island was rapidly shrinking away._

_"It's all right now," his mother said, staring up at the new moon. "They won't follow right away. We'll lose them, darling."_

_He wasn't listening. He was curled up on the deck, crying silent tears of shock and grief._

_Coming to his side, she removed her mask and pulled him into her arms. "I know," she said, letting her own tears falls as she held him close. "I know."_

_He didn't know how long they were in that boat - weeks, probably. His mother tossed her mask into the ocean and shed her dirty, torn ballgown for a simple white shirt, black trousers and thick brown leather boots. All day she was at work, reading maps and adjusting the sail, yet she always seemed to have time for him. She was clear in his memory now; long reddish-brown hair in a messy bun, eyes and nose just like his, a small mouth that was forever smiling in his presence and a light, soothing voice._

_He didn't ask any questions until the day the wind died. A ship appeared on the horizon that day, and a lifeboat was sent out from it towards them. There were several men in it, and his mother greeted them like they were old friends. "Take this to Blood Island," she said as she handed one of them a large glass bottle containing many papers, "and tell His Majesty not to search for us."_

_As the lifeboat departed, a large and barrel-chested man with the beginnings of a brown beard waved cheerfully to him._

_It wasn't until that night, when they were below the deck, that he asked. "Mother, who were those men you met today?"_

_For the first time, her smile faded. "You would hate me if you knew."_

_He shook his head. "I won't! I promise."_

_"...They were pirates," she said at last._

_"Why didn't you kill them, then?"_

_"Because I am one of them."_

_His eyes widened, but he did not turn away in revulsion as she had evidently feared. "But what about - "_

_"The Illuminati?" she finished. "They, son, are not what they appear."_

_This went against all his lessons. Which, admittedly, were not very enjoyable. "What does that mean?" he asked, sitting next to her._

_"They are dangerous, wicked people. They speak of order and yet they despise it. In ancient times they tore down empires simply so they could dance upon the ruins. Millions have been slain because of their arrogance."_

_He remembered the fate of his father and shivered._

_"It's not all bad," she continued reassuringly. "Some of them knew they were doing wrong. So they took their ships and sailed away, vowing to bring down their former brethren no matter what the cost. That is how pirates came to be."_

_"Why did you join the Illuminati, Mother?"_

_"I didn't really. Your father and I were sent there by the Pirate King. The Illuminati had a plan, you see; they were going to start a war that would consume the whole world in their darkness. But we found these plans and took them - that was the bottle. They are on their way to the Pirate King."_

_"Is that where we're going?"_

_She shook her head. "We had arranged to leave his kingdom once we were finished. We are on our way to England, son. There you may have the life which you deserve." She toyed with her ruby ring, which now hung on a black ribbon around her neck. "The money from this thing should last us awhile."_

_"Will it be nice in England?"_

_"Oh, **very** nice. You can explore all you want, and you won't have to fight anymore. I always wanted to give you a proper name."_

_"A name?" He had been intrigued by the concept of names._

_"Of course. How about...Charles?"_

_"I think - "_

_**BANG!** _

_Something large and heavy slammed into the side of their boat, shoving it forward and throwing them to the floor. Then there was a loud crunch as something sharp and curved plowed into the deck barely an inch from their heads, making their craft jerk to a stop. "What's going on?" he asked, clinging to her._

_Tears were forming in her eyes. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."_

_Several people stepped onto the deck. He heard their soft footfalls as they walked about. With a slow, agonizing creak, the hatch was pulled open._

_They slipped into the hold like living shadows, surrounding their helpless victims and pulling them from their hiding place. He was picked up and carried into the cold, soon to be stormy night. Above him loomed a huge ship, dark and horrible. A rope ladder snaked down from the side, and his captor took hold of it. He closed his eyes as they were swiftly carried up, the wind starting to whistle in his ears. Then he was dumped onto the wet, slimy deck and looked up to see dozens of masks staring down at him._

_The Quartermaster stepped from the throng as his other prey was hauled up on deck and placed before him. "Where are they, pirate?"_

_Swallowing the fear she had shown moments before, she gave him a victorious smirk. "You're too late."_

_His clenched fists trembled, and then he abruptly struck her across the face, knocking her into the mast. "So be it."_

_As the rain began to fall, the Quartermaster's eyes came to rest upon him. "And what have we here? I trust your captivity has not been too unbearable, my student."_

_He tried to run away, but the man grabbed his arm and pulled him to the center of the crowd, while his mother was dragged back up and tied to the mast. "Illuminati!" he called. "Let us now see if my heir is worthy to be called such!" Reaching into his robe, he procured a small pistol. "This woman," he continued, "has condemned herself to death. And who better to administer it than her own spawn?" He knelt down and placed the gun into his hands. "I command you to kill her."_

_From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother firmly shake her head._

_"No..."_

_"What?" the old man snapped, now thoroughly annoyed._

_He dropped the gun to the ground like it was an asp. "No!"_

_Calmly, the Quartermaster reached down and picked up his weapon. "Very well." Then he turned around and fired two shots into the woman's shoulder._

_They both cried out. She from pain, he from terror._

_The Quartermaster merely laughed pleasantly. "Then you, my student, shall receive a different honor."_

_And so he was made to watch. Watched as they shot his mother, ran their knives and swords into her again and again, burned scars into her flesh with hot pieces of iron. Not enough to kill her, though. Never enough to kill her. Before long he could only see her suffering and hear her screams. He was trapped in a nightmare, one from which there was no escape._

_"Let her go," the Quartermaster finally commanded with a bored tone. "They have had enough."_

_She was released from her ropes and collapsed to the deck burned, bleeding and battered. He crept towards her, afraid to come near. "Mother...?"_

_"I'm here," she whispered weakly, reaching out for him._

_He rushed to her side. "This is all my fault!"_

_She shook her head. "It is my honor. Our honor."_

_"I don't understand..."_

_"You shall." Taking his hand, she pressed something into it - the ring. "Stay alive," she instructed. "Stay alive..."_

_He put it around his neck and hid it beneath his shirt. "I promise."_

_Her lovely smile appeared once again as the last of her strength faded. Then she turned her still-open eyes to the stormy heavens and was no more._

_He closed her eyes for her, then stood and turned away. Suddenly feeling a need to flee, he staggered to the side of the ship and stared at the churning ocean. **I don't want to be me anymore.**_

_"Now," said the Quartermaster, "what are we to do with you?"_

_"...don't want to..."_

_The Quartermaster gripped his shoulder and spun him around. "Don't want to **what?** Live? That can be easily arranged."_

_He grabbed his neck with both hands and lifted him up. The eternally scowling mask was the last thing he saw before he was thrown into the sea._

_**Swim!** he thought as he hit the water and instantly sank. **Breathe!** he told himself as his lungs started to burn. **Stay alive,** he remembered her saying. Her last request, and he would not fail it._

**_Swim. Breathe. Stay alive. Swim. Breathe. Stay alive..._ **

* * *

 

Charles resurfaced from his lost memory with a gasp, only to find himself at the bottom of the lake. The Pirate Captain was floating above him, gesturing as frantically as he could with his arms still tied. Closing his mouth, he swam to his friend and tugged at the loose knots, which quickly came undone. The ropes were shaken off, and then the duo propelled themselves upwards, broke the surface and struggled to shore.

The moment he touched land, Charles ripped off his mask and flung it aside before starting to vomit up icy saltwater. The ghastly images were still floating through his mind. Feeling as though he could do nothing else, he let himself fall to the ground and cry. It seemed like his mind was going to burn again, like it had when he'd thought it was about to be destroyed. _Why hadn't it?_ he wondered. _**Why?**_

To his surprise, the answer presented itself; _there was nothing to take its place._ The ruthless killing machine inside him had, quite simply, not existed.

His sobs softened and soon ended. _I might've become that,_ he realized. _If not for them._

Slowly, Charles pushed himself back up and stood. His mother's words did indeed make sense now - it had all been for him. His father had died so that he might escape the Illuminati's lair, and she had died so that he might escape their power. They had given up their lives to give him a better one.

_And,_ he thought, _they certainly did._

"Captain?" he said calmly.

"You alright, Charles?"

"Yes...yes, I am."

Angry voices could be heard overhead, approaching the room.

"The others are still locked up, I'm betting," said the captain. "Well, Chuck, what do you say? Up for another rescue mission?"

"Not much of a choice."

"Scared?"

"Quite."

"...Ready?"

"Absolutely."


	11. The Confrontation

When the two Illuminati sent to ensure the prisoners were dead arrived, all they found was a battered tricorn hat floating atop the water.

"Should we look for them?" one asked, peering into the depths of the pool.

"They are already dead," said his companion. "Let us join the others."

Neither of them noticed that the hat was beginning to slowly float towards the shore.

"Hello there!"

The Pirate Captain was standing behind them, grinning happily. "Lovely evening. Wouldn't recommend a swim, though." He held up his hands in mock surrender as their rapiers were instantly pointed at his torso. "Yes, yes, I know how it works. But don't I get any last words?"

"Speak."

The captain's smile grew bigger. "Very nice swords. Be a shame if anything happened to them."

The men had about half a second to react before their feet were kicked out from beneath them and a chunk of ice was slammed against the back of their heads.

"Are they dead?" the captain asked as Charles began tying up their prone bodies with the rope.

"Just unconscious," he answered, handing his friend one of the rapiers. "Which is why we'd best be off."

"Right! Friends to save and enemies to skewer!"

Ignoring the second part of his friend's proclamation, Charles turned his eyes to the ground and quickly headed for the door.

* * *

 

"Good grief, Chuck, _how_ can you see in here?"

"I can't, actually." For once, Charles was grateful that he'd been made to learn his way around the base blindfolded. The tunnel which he and the Pirate Captain were navigating was pitch black, only wide enough for one person and barely tall enough for them. If the captain hadn't been stooping, his head might have gone through the ceiling.

"We'll have to go easy on the dramatics, I'm afraid," said the captain. "I was thinking we could pop out of nowhere, take down the guards, free the others and finish it all off by fighting our way out! How's that sound?"

Charles lifted up a hand and started feeling the fragile stone tiles above him. _It must be here somewhere..._

"Although it'd be really nice to have some clever lines. Those always make things more interesting! What do you think?"

One of the tiles cracked when Charles touched it. Further prodding make it break altogether, revealing itself to be only a thin sheet of plaster concealing a wooden trap door. "I think," he said as he gently pushed it open, "that this will be a bit easier." Through the opening, the iron bars of the dungeon cell could be seen.

"Look alive, lads!" the captain cried, pushing Charles out of the way and climbing up through the hole. "Salvation is at...oh, barnacles."

Charles followed him. "What is it?" he had started to ask, but the scene before him - or lack thereof - explained everything.

The entire dungeon was, they realized, empty. No guards and _certainly_ no prisoners. The cell door hung open, as though its occupants had been removed in a hurry.

"Where the devil could they be?" the captain said. "Number Two! Albino Pirate! Anyone?"

"Oh no..."

Four familiar notecards lay propped up against the wall. **_HELP. US. GO. DOWN._**

"How far down does this place _go?"_

Charles, on the other hand, was already gone.

* * *

 

"You know," said the Pirate Captain as they raced up yet another spiral staircase, "I'm getting _exceedingly_ tired of not knowing what's going on."

"Just come on!" Charles said. Arriving at a door, he unlocked it with his ring and pushed it open. In front of him was the domed room. Briefly glancing around, he walked briskly into it and began prying up the round stone in the very center of the floor.

"What are you _doing?"_ the captain whispered, horrified.

"Help me with this!" he whispered back.

Tip-toeing across the room, the Pirate Captain took hold of the stone and lifted. To his surprise, it came away easily as though it had been removed not long before. Beneath it lay a small cavity containing a wooden lever. "Is this what we're looking for?" he asked, reaching down and pulling it.

"Captain, wait...!"

Both of them screamed as the floor jolted, shuddered and swiftly sunk downward, its descent revealing the archway of a long, wide hallway with a set of tall bronze doors at the end.

"Now that's actually quite clever," the captain said as the huge lift jerked to a stop.

"Quiet!" Charles whispered. "Don't you hear that?"

A myriad of voices were calling for help, one especially louder than the others. _**"UNHAND US, FIENDS!"**_ the Pirate King was shouting.

The Pirate Captain was instantly all business. "Here's the plan," he said, drawing his rapier. "We sneak in, untie them and then you can finally give those blokes what they deserve!"

_"Me?"_

The captain looked surprised. "I thought you would want to. After...that."

Before Charles could answer, another voice rang out from the darkness. _"Captain!"_

_"Number Two?_ I'm coming, Number Two!" His face contorting with genuine rage, the Pirate Captain raised his rapier and charged down the hallway while Charles frantically pursued him. When he reached the doors, he effortlessly kicked them open and leapt into the room brandishing his weapon. "Prepare to meet your maker, _jerks!"_

It was a good thing that this was the only line he had prepared, because he barely got to say it before he and Charles were surrounded, disarmed and pinned to the ground by a sea of red and white.

"You again?" a familiar voice asked from beyond the crowd. "This I must see. Bring them hither!"

They were forced to their feet and pushed forward, up the steps of a large, ziggurat-like structure. On the platform atop it stood the Quartermaster, as imposing as ever. The dim light of the torches lining the platform cast inhuman shadows across his mask and the jeweled sword he carried. Their friends were behind him, trapped by guards and huddled together in fear.

"I must admit," the Quartermaster said as his defiant prisoners were placed on their knees in front of him, "I did not think you two would survive. But no matter. This will be far more suitable."

"Let them go," said the Pirate Captain. "It's not their fault I - "

"Failed them yet again? Do not despair. This time shall be the last." The Quartermaster then turned and addressed his people. "These traitors, like the rest of their kind, have earned themselves death of a most creative type. The captain," he said, gesturing with his blade, "shall watch his king and crew be put to the sword one by one. When all have gone, he shall die as well." He looked right at Charles. "And finally," he said, lowering his voice and pointing the sword between his eyes, "I shall finish what I began."

Charles tried to glare at him, but he couldn't keep himself from trembling.

The Quartermaster glared back, and then disregarded him. "The freak shall go first."

The Albino Pirate, mute with terror and clinging to Polly, was hauled from the bunch and dragged before him. The lad whimpered and hugged the dodo tighter as the sword was held above his head and raised up, seemingly ready to cleave it in half...

_"Hey!"_

Several gunshots rang through the air, and a figure dropped down from the ceiling into the scene, knocking aside the two guards restraining the Pirate Captain. "Mind if I join in?"

For the second time in that most eventful night, the captain was at a loss for words. Standing next to him in all his former finery, with that knowing smirk he had always longed to wipe off, was a familiar - and, for once, welcome - face. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Black Bellamy just chuckled and handed him a cutlass. "We didn't want to miss the fun."

"We...?"

_"Come on, everybody!"_

Pirates streamed into the room from every crevice. They came through the door, from the ceiling, out of the walls. Each of them carried a weapon, and each was _very_ eager to use it.

With a roar of approval and a burst of speed, the Pirate King wrested the Quartermaster's sword from his hand before proceeding to unleash his wrath on the unprepared guards. "Now _this_ is more like it! _**ATTACK!"**_

His people were happy to comply.

_You can tell they were the same people once,_ Charles thought. _When they set out to do something, they certainly know how._

He was weaving through the fray, ducking out of harm's way and doing everything in his power to avoid actual combat. The others seemed to be handling that pretty well, anyway. The Pirate Captain and the Pirate With A Scarf were fighting back-to-back. The Pirate King was literally tossing Illuminati left and right. The Pirate With Gout was bashing people with his crutch. There was even a woman using some kind of cannonball gun to scare off adversaries. As he watched warriors on both sides fall and lie motionless, it dawned on him that he was in the middle of a war. It also dawned on him that the tide of battle was forcing him back up the ziggurat, where he really didn't want to be. The Quartermaster was atop it, his eyes scanning the scene. Searching, he knew, for him.

_I can't,_ Charles told himself as he watched the man push someone to the ground and loom over him with his own cutlass. _He'll kill me. As in, **actually** kill me. He'll..._

Then he realized who was about to die. And without another thought, he reached down and picked up a sword.

* * *

 

The Pirate With A Scarf wasn't quite sure how it had all happened. Just a moment ago he'd been beating back his foes with ease. The captain was no longer at his side, a fact which worried him slightly. Not that the man wasn't somewhat capable of looking out for himself -

And then he fell over backwards and had the air pushed out of him by a foot which stomped upon his chest.

The man in the black robe plucked his cutlass from his hand and stared at it. "A practical design, the cutlass," he said. "Thin, light, good for running someone through. Pirate weapon, though. We do not use it. Excepting, of course, when it would be suitable."

There was no ceremony this time. He simply brought the sword up and then brought it down. Which was why it came as a surprise to him, his victim, and everyone around them when metal met metal.

"Get yourself out of here," Charles told the stunned first mate. "Now!"

Unable to speak, the Pirate With A Scarf merely nodded and scrambled back.

Charles heard the Quartermaster's cutlass whistling through the air before it struck, and he barely dodged it in time.

"Well done," the man said. "What else can you recall?"

"I'm not doing this." He turned to leave, but the Quartermaster grabbed his arm and jerked him back around.

"I _insist."_

Frowning, he pulled away.

"You want to."

He looked at the ground.

The Quartermaster began to circle him. "Tell me," he said with a smile in his voice, "what else do you remember?"

"...None of your business."

"You are my subject. Everything you do is my business."

"Not anymore."

"No, I suppose not. You _were_ very disobedient that night." Sensing his target's discomfort, he drew closer. "It was your fault, you know."

The young man did not move his gaze from the ground, but his hands slowly clenched into fists.

"Had you done your part, I would have let her die quickly. But _no,_ you let her _suffer._ And for what? So her pathetic child could continue its existence? You're a disgrace! You don't _deserve_ to have survived!"

Charles whipped around. His fear turned to fury, he struck a lightning-fast blow at the Quartermaster which, when the old man effortlessly blocked it, had enough force to dent his cutlass.

"Is that it?"

He struck again. And again, and again, and again. The entire room had fallen silent by now, watching as the Quartermaster deflected his increasingly furious attacks.

"Oh, I know you can do better than that," the man said when the onslaught briefly subsided. "Or _can_ you?"

Before Charles could swing again, the Quartermaster had grabbed him by the shirt and thrown him to the ground. Pain shot through his head as it hit the stones. His cutlass fell from his hand and out of sight.

"Such anger," the Quartermaster said, looming over him. "Such _power._ And you've always had it in you. Why keep it contained? It must be released." Reaching down, he placed his cutlass into Charles's hand. "Kill me. Kill me and have your revenge."

Dazed and disoriented, Charles slowly got back up. The cutlass hung limply in his hands. He pointed it at the Quartermaster, who knelt before him calmly.

"Submit to it," said the man. "Let it do what you cannot."

_Do it,_ a voice inside his head commanded. A voice which sounded like his own, yet had a ghostly, malevolent ring. _What are you waiting for, **idiot?**_

"Chuck? Chuck, come down from there." It was the Pirate Captain, cautiously ascending the steps of the ziggurat with his crew behind him. "You're scaring Albino Pirate. And me, to be perfectly honest."

"I like you better when you're nice," said the lad in question.

A chunk of rock smacked against his foot, although he barely noticed it. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate step forward, ready to toss another rock. "Snap out of it, Mr. Darwin. Snap out of it _now."_

"Don't listen to them," the Quartermaster interrupted, a hint of uneasiness in his tone. "They are only distractions."

But Charles had heard them. Their voices were slipping into his mind, banishing the dark thoughts and bringing him back to reality. Lowering the cutlass, he backed away from the Quartermaster. "You're wrong."

"...What?"

"You're wrong about me, you're wrong about them, you're wrong about this." He gestured to the crowd around them. "This isn't power. This is lies and wickedness and making yourselves think you're something to fear."

"You know nothing!"

Charles smiled. "I'm a coward, and you don't even scare _me."_

"Kill them all, then!" the Pirate King shouted.

"They're not worth it." Charles tossed the sword aside. "Besides, I wouldn't."

"What kind of pirate _are_ you, then?" the Quartermaster snarled.

"Half pirate, half scientist."

And with that, he turned to walk away.

"Chuck! _Look out!"_

The Quartermaster had leapt up, grabbed the cutlass and was charging towards him with the blade raised.

It was all over in a second. He turned. He saw.

He jumped aside.

Running off the edge of the platform, the Quartermaster landed head-first on the steps with a sickening crack. His form flopped down the rest of the stairs, leaving a faint trail of blood in its wake. By the time he reached the ground, the fiend was no more.

No one dared to move or speak. For a few moments, the world seemed to grind to a halt.

Then, yet again, the unexpected occurred.

Throwing down their weapons in unison, the Illuminati rushed out of the room, stopping only to take their leader's body. The shocked pirates could only watch as they vanished into the shadows.

"...So," said the Pirate Captain, recovering from his stupor. "So...that's all?"

* * *

 

"I told you! Cowards, every last one of them," the Pirate King was bellowing. "Didn't I say that?"

"Absolutely, sir!" Black Bellamy answered sycophantically as he proudly steered their lifeboat back towards his ship.

The Pirate Captain ignored them. "What does that make you, then, Charles? The Scientist Pirate? How does that sound, Number Two?"

"Oh, let him choose."

"I've got a name, if that's fine with you."

The captain beamed. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Having won their battle, the pirate army was going from the island back to their fleet, ready to start the long journey to Blood Island. One by one, they got to their ships, raised anchor and sailed off over the horizon, the cheers echoing through the air long after they were gone.

The Pirate Captain and his crew were among the last to leave. "What are we waiting for, lads?" the captain said once all were safely on deck. "Hoist the flag! Ready the sails! Whatever else we do!"

As the boat flew into a flurry of activity, Charles quietly walked to the stern. He stared at the island one last time, its shape cast into shadow by the sunrise behind it. _Has it only been a single night?_

The ring was still on his finger. He took it off and let it catch the light. His mother's voice was replaying in his head, telling him of their new life. The life which she had intended to make possible with this old thing.

_You've served your purpose,_ he thought.

Reaching over the side of the ship, he let it fall into the sea.

He was about to go when he noticed something odd. Spiraling up from several different spots on the island were lines of thick black smoke. For a split second, the smell of gunpowder drifted towards him. "What are they - "

**BOOM.**

The massive explosion rattled the timbers of the ship while its crew was tossed all over the deck. Behind them, they could see the Illuminati's island blast itself into the sky, disintegrate and slowly disappear beneath the ocean.

"What in Neptune's name was _that?"_ the Pirate Captain exclaimed as he staggered to his feet.

"That, sir," said the Pirate With A Scarf, "was the literal interpretation of going out with a bang."

"Number Two? If I ever decide to get that dramatic, please threaten me with - AGH!"

The crew was knocked to their feet again as a massive wave caused by the blast rushed up behind the Pirate Ship, picked it up and began pushing it away from the remains of the island.

They were heading home.


	12. Epilogue

_Dear Diary,_

_I'd always thought I had only one family. Turns out I've been lucky enough to have three._

It was a silly thing to write, Charles thought. Silly and true.

He was in the hold of the Pirate Ship, using his free time to do a bit of journaling. Several piles of rope lay next to him, the knots in them having been soundly defeated - the things gave him no trouble now.

As they had traveled back to Blood Island, things had begun to change. Sailing the seas became more natural with each passing day. He hadn't been seasick in weeks, and his lessons from the Pirate Captain were finally proving effective. Realizing this, the captain was keeping him busy most of the time, just like the rest of the crew. He was slowly but surely finding a place in this group and learning every nail, knothole and splinter of the boat which he now called home.

There was a scuffling noise from above, and the Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate dropped into the hold with an apple in his hand. "Evening, Charlie. You're a liar, you know that?" he said, taking a bite out of it and then playfully tossing it to Charles.

He caught it without even looking up from his book, for this had become a habit of theirs. "What did I do now?" he asked with a smile.

"You're not a coward."

Charles raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Meaning?"

"You know what I mean."

He did, although he rarely thought of it. By an unspoken agreement, the crew refrained from discussing in detail what he had gone through that night. He had told them his story afterwards, but that was it. "It was something I said to get the better of him. What of it?"

"A real coward would've just killed him. _I_ would've just killed him!"

"Now who's the liar?" He took a bite from the apple himself before tossing it back. "He was right about one thing, though."

"...And what would that be?"

He closed the journal and turned to face his friend. "He said I didn't deserve to survive."

"Don't tell yourself that - "

"Will you let me finish?"

"Fine."

"My parents saved my life because they thought I _was_ worth it. But what have I done with my life?"

The Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate didn't answer.

"Exactly. Suppose I'd died fighting the Quartermaster. Why should anyone remember me? I never gave them reason to. They would have died in vain. They...they deserve better than what I've been." He reopened his journal. "So that's what I'm going to give them."

With a flourish, he wrote another sentence in the book; _Someday, I will do something great._

The Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate grinned. "Good plan."

"I hope so. But I'd like to keep it to myself for now, if you don't mind. We've already got plenty of excitement."

"Best secret keeper on the ship, that's me!"

Charles smirked. "What makes you so good at that, anyway?" he asked offhandedly.

To his surprise, the pirate fell silent. His voice quivered and seemed to get a little higher when he spoke again. "...Well..."

_"Captain's back!"_

"And he's brought _ham!"_

The strange occurrence was quickly forgotten as the two joined their companions on deck. Sure enough, the Pirate Captain was strutting down the wharf with a nice large ham under his arm. "Don't just stand there, lads! I declare this evening to be _Ham Night!"_

* * *

 

"Alright, everyone settle down!" the captain told his crew once everything had been prepared. They were even happier than usual; the Pirate With A Scarf had even gone so far as to pull Charles into the seat next to him.

"Where have you been all day, Captain?" the Albino Pirate asked.

"Didn't I tell you? I've been to see the Pirate King!"

While they all sat patiently, the Pirate Captain spun his tale. According to the king, no trace of the Illuminati had been seen by his scouts. Although he had worried that some of them had survived to carry on their dark work, it was now apparent that they had been destroyed forever. The long war with them over, he had declared the day of their defeat a pirate holiday. The whole island had been taking this to heart, celebrating incessantly and heaping endless amounts of praise on the hero of the battle - a certain Black Bellamy.

 _"What?"_ everyone shouted.

"Yes, that's what I thought at first. But I must admit, he did save our skins back there. And anyway, I'm not done yet."

They leaned closer, anxious to hear more.

"You know that old book Bellamy gave me? Well, the king asked for it. He's going to write a history of the war and has asked me to assist him!" He watched as excited gasps and chatter filled the hold. "Not that I took him up on the offer, if that's what you're thinking."

They fell silent once more. Mr. Bobo held up a card: **?!**

"I said I was already occupied. A crew needs a captain, after all."

He was answered with smiles of approval. "And besides," he added, "we've already got our reward. We're alive, and the crew's gotten one man bigger! I'd say that's good enough for us, don't you?"

_"Aye-aye!"_

In that moment, all that mattered to Charles was the bright, happy faces of his friends and the exhilarating happiness inside him which he'd gone so long without. The past, the world outside, even the future briefly faded from his mind. There would be time for them later.

But for now, everything was perfect.

**|~| The End |~|**


End file.
